


sugar and cream

by july2008



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Established Relationship, M/M, office au and sickfic crammed together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/july2008/pseuds/july2008
Summary: Simon, without fail, always drops by Markus’ desk with six cups of coffee at eight in the morning sharp. Except he doesn’t show up one day, and it’s not the coffee Markus misses dearly.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	sugar and cream

Simon, without fail, always drops by Markus’ desk with six cups of coffee at eight in the morning sharp— every morning so that Markus regularly forgets that Simon doesn’t work in the accounting department, he works in human resources several floors below his.

It’s become part of Markus’ schedule to start the day off with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, a peck on the cheek, a squeeze on the shoulder, followed by a “See you after work” that makes him wish the hours would go by faster. On a lucky day, a muffin or sweet pastry would be added into the mix in case he skipped breakfast, because Simon knows him too well.

Except he doesn’t show up one day and _wow_ , the lack of caffeine intake is staggering, but it’s not the coffee he misses dearly. Not to mention he’s really taken Simon’s dedication and affection put into the simple gestures for granted.

A smidge of guilt mixes with concern. He’s just late, he thinks at first. No, it was already nearing lunch. Neither of them were one to skip work, being the workaholics that they are due to the demanding work environment. Maybe he’s finally gotten tired of their little habit, or even him?

Connor sits across him, already replying to emails that piled in from the weekend, machine-like and unaware that something was amiss. Meanwhile Chloe is clearly enjoying Markus’ worry as bit of her morning fun.

“You’re completely smitten, and it’s adorable,” she teases.

“I don’t know how you can be this lively in the morning,” he says, trying to steer the subject away from his love life.

“Unlike you, I don’t have to rely on seeing a certain somebody to get a boost in the morning.” Underneath her charming smile and polite demeanor, Chloe is relentless and ruthless. “You could always visit him downstairs. Surprise him for a change.”

She’s also never wrong, and the idea plants itself firmly in his head.

So there he is, lunch break, coffee tray in hand, making his way downstairs. Accounting was always wary of HR; unruly caffeine-starved animals with no respect for authority, they’d call them. They would make it an effort to avoid them until a crisis about a lack of funds came barreling towards deadlines.

It’s a whole different environment down there, too: people hunched over their computers, keyboards clacking away, printers being smacked at in the distance, and Markus is glad his own floor is higher up where natural sunlight is accessible.

He thinks he has the wrong cubicle absent of its owner until a coworker spots him.

“Looking for Simon?” Josh asks, stretching in his seat. “He called in sick today.”

Ah. The logical explanation still makes his heart sink. “Is he okay?”

Before he can answer, a head with auburn hair springs up a few cubicles away looking starved of any sort of distraction. At the sight of Markus and the coffees in his hand, North rolls over in her chair immediately.

“Oh, thank god.” She grabs not one, but two cups that clearly have ‘Chloe’ and ‘Connor’ labeled on them for herself before Markus can object. “Cute of you to finally substitute for coffee duty,” she smirks. “I’ve never seen Simon so coy about missing a day.”

“I didn’t do it for you, trust me.” And turning back to Josh, “Have you heard from him?”

But Josh shakes his head. “You know,” he starts slowly, “he never usually calls in sick. So… his cold must be really bad. Terrible, even.” He grabs the third cup from the tray and takes a sip to mask his growing smile.

“Oh, yeah. Really bad,” North parrots. “Just imagine the fever and all the snot. Probably dying from the flu, or maybe even a rare plague. I can already see his obituary in the papers: ‘weak young man dies without seeing his beloved for the final time.’”

“Hilarious. Very funny.”

But the mixture of guilt and concern stays in the pit of his stomach because Josh’s words ring true: Simon was never one to miss work. And Chloe’s idea roots itself deeper in. 

* * *

It’s also become part of Markus’ schedule to finish the day off by walking Simon home after work.

Markus had to insist on it at first. In the first few days, he’d wait in the lobby until Simon appeared, who was always visibly flustered but grateful that he was actually _there_ waiting for him. Didn’t matter how many times Markus had to remind him that he needed to take the metro home himself and the station was just past his place.

He’s glad he was persistent. He loves the way Simon takes his hand while walking down the street. He loves how he points out the new bookstore that opened nearby or the change of colors in the autumn trees, or how he stops by the grocery store on the way to pick up milk and eggs, only to come out with a bag of figs for Markus because he somehow remembered Carl wanting some.

He loves how Simon’s able to make him smile about the smallest things, only to be met with a sheepish grin in return.

Fond memories linger on this street, but not as much when the winds are picking up and it’s raining sideways, for crying out loud.

Markus gives up trying to fold his umbrella bent at odd angles after its never-ending battle with the wind, and smooths out his coat. It’s silly to be nervous about showing up unexpected, but he checks his reflection on the screen of his phone, clears his throat, then knocks on Simon’s door.

For a while there’s no answer, and Markus starts fretting because what if something _did_ happen. But with another knock, he relaxes at the fumbling of the door lock.

When the door swings open, Simon stands there gawking at him, like he’s seen a ghost.

“Are you real or did I have too many shots of Nyquil?”

“Here in the flesh.” Markus grins and holds up the bag of cold reliefs and warm food in his arms. “Thought I’d bring you something.”

“Wow.” Simon slowly grins back. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

There’s a few seconds where they just gaze at each other intently, neither of their cognitive functions responding properly at the surprising sight of each other, because it feels like it’s been more than a weekend’s absence—

“Uh, this is a really heavy bag by the way.”

“Right, sorry.”

He can see Simon still trying to fully grasp that this wasn’t just some dream state he was in as he takes his coat. Chuckling, Markus starts to lay out the bag’s contents on the kitchen island and hopes the soup he’s brought is adequate enough.

“You came all the way out here for me? In the rain?”

He’s not sure how he’s going to convince him at this rate, as if this wasn’t the most obvious course of action. “I missed you at work. And my coffee. But mostly you.”

Simon gives him another affectionate look. “I’d kiss you right now, but…” He gestures to himself: tousled hair and clothes, dark circles under eyes, red nose, the whole getup that screams ‘I am very sick, please stay six feet away from me.’

Maybe not as bad as North put it, not near death anyway, but still…

“You look terrible,” Markus says absently, feeling his forehead, but Simon brushes it aside.

“Not looking so bad yourself,” he smiles wryly. “It’s just a small cold. I’m fine.”

When Markus gives him an unconvinced look, Simon admits, “Or I will be, now that you’re here.”

With enough blankets, they settle down on either side of his living room couch, legs intertwined halfway, channel surfing to mindless drivel on TV and telling each other about their days. Simon had spent the entire day in bed, completely knocked out from the cough syrup he found in the deep bowels of his kitchen cabinet, hence the tired eyes and empty stomach.

“You didn’t happen to drop by HR today, did you?” he asks as he cradles the bowl of soup in his hands, like it’s going to save him from an untimely death.

A smile automatically tugs at Markus’ lips. “It was good seeing Josh and North. We’re planning for drinks on Friday.”

But Simon groans. “They made it weird, didn’t they? There’s a reason why I come up to accounting for breaks.”

“I like it down there. It’s more fun than accounting,” Markus laughs. “You owe me three coffees though, by the way.”

“As opposed to the several hundred I’ve bought you so far?”

“I bought you the very first one,” he points out.

And indeed, he had. 

It had been Markus’ second week on the job, and the tenth time the photocopier had jammed in the midst of an important document that needed immediate printing. His frustration had reached a limit, and he laid his head down on the glass hoping it would print out his wallowing self-pity.

“You need to hit it twice.”

He looked up, startled. “Sorry?”

Simon stood before him, sheaf of papers in his arms, slightly amused by Markus’ melodramatics while waiting patiently for his turn. “I said you need to hit it twice in the right spot.”

He stepped forward and proceeded to hit, no, slam the photocopier on its left side underneath where the toner was located. And miraculously, the machine jumped back to life.

Markus had never been so thankful for a timely rescue. “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you one.”

“New on the job?”

He huffed a laugh. “Evidently.”

“We filed in a request for a new photocopier months ago, but I don’t think it ever got to the higher-ups.”

“I mean, it still works. Maybe overdue for a repair, but…” As much as it annoyed Markus, he also became well-acquainted with it over time, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. “You can’t replace and throw things out just because they’ve grown old and slow.”

Simon had cocked his head to the side and given him a funny look.

It was by luck that Markus ran into him again the next day and bought him a coffee in thanks. And Simon, betrayed by his own face when a blush crept to his cheeks, seemed surprised that Markus took up on his promise.

Little did they know, they shared the same break on their schedules. And with time, they soon learned that being in each other’s company was, simply put, like two gears yanked out of a corporate machine— a lovely respite, given their workaholic nature.

It had been their third week of tantalizing flirtations when Markus finally gained the courage (and impatience) to ask him.

“Hey,” he had said breathlessly, catching up with Simon in the elevator one morning.

“You’re in a hurry today—”

“Would you like to have dinner together sometime?” he blurted out. “As… as a date.”

Simon’s eyes widened, and there was a soft “Oh” from him that eased into a lovely smile. “I’d like that. A lot. To go out with you, I mean.”

It was as if he’d been waiting for Markus to make the first move, take the first step, because of that slight doubt of overt-friendly misconception, and relieved to find that it wasn’t the case. A workplace courtesy, if you will.

Markus knew he was grinning like an idiot but didn’t care nor stop. The threshold had been crossed, and he began thinking up a list of restaurants they could go to. “When are you free?”

“I’m off early tonight,” Simon said, a little too quickly, then caught himself. “Unless you meant sometime this week—”

“Tonight’s perfect.”

They stood there grinning at each other for quite some time until they realized neither of them had pressed the elevator button.

At least the actual date wasn’t as awkward as their morning display, but rather pleasant, and even romantic. They had subsequently moved to the bar after their candle-lit dinner, then Simon had casually suggested that they continue drinks at his place, and then, well… Carpe diem, so on and so forth, etc., etc. Breakfast the next morning was very nice, to put it tactfully.

And that had only been their first of many dates. Their first of many things together.

Markus can still recall the first morning he found a cup of coffee alongside a post-it note on his desk. It continued in the following days, until he arrived at the office earlier than usual to catch Simon leaving it in the act.

“Stay a while,” Markus said, grabbing his arm and, with some grace to prevent an unfortunate coffee spillage, pulling him into his lap.

“I’m going to be late,” was the amused reply, but Simon stayed nonetheless.

Soon, his coffee delivery ritual extended to surrounding coworkers because, “I might as well. I can stay longer to see you then.”

Markus _melted_ at that.

While he tended to be a bit more ambitious, it’s the small, simple, loving gestures from Simon that makes the days a little easier, makes Markus look forward to daily tasks that would otherwise seem menial. It balanced them out nicely. Office romances aren’t supposed to work out this well, don’t they? And he wonders how he’s gotten so lucky—

Markus feels a sharp nudge against his leg, and it snaps him out of his thoughts.

“You’re spacing out again,” Simon says gently, amused.

“Sorry— habit.”

“Don’t be. Worried about the upcoming work party?” he asks, discarding the empty bowl on the coffee table. “Everyone’s looking forward to your speech. It’s not every day someone new gets Employee of the Month.”

He’s about to correct him, maybe pepper in that he’s been thinking about what to do on their upcoming three-month anniversary (already!), but now that he’s brought up the topic of work…

When Markus fails to answer, Simon reaches over and places a hand over his.

“Hey.”

He looks up at him.

“There’s no one more deserving of that title than you and your track record.”

“I’ve been slacking lately,” Markus counters, feeling conscious that the spotlight is on him now. “My reports are a mess.”

“You work hard, Markus.” Simon’s smile fades a little, just for a split second. “Sometimes a little too hard.”

“I have you to distract me when I do.”

“Good to know I’m of some use to you.” It’s said in a self-deprecating way, a habit he’s yet to drop, that Markus frowns in response.

“You’re more than that,” he says softly.

But Simon just rests his chin on his hand and smiles at him in a ‘whatever you say’ like manner, and _Christ_ , Markus wants nothing more than to lean across and wipe the smile off his face with a kiss. But the moment he tries to, Simon immediately recoils back and places a hand over his mouth to keep him at a distance.

“I don’t want to get you sick.”

“I’m caught up on my flu shots,” Markus says through his fingers.

Simon observes him carefully. “I have a cold, not the flu. And I don’t believe you.”

“I’m hurt.”

“Do flu shots do anything for a common cold?”

“Have I ever told you how not-terrible you look today?” he asks, changing the subject. He looks at him with the most innocent look he can muster.

But for once, Simon doesn’t give in. “So-called flattery will get you nowhere. Worth the price of keeping you in good shape.”

Markus makes a show of pouting for added effect, but eventually gives up. “You already sneezed in my general direction twice,” he says dryly, and then laughs at Simon’s mortified look.

The rest of the evening morphs into a cozy night, although the rain outside doesn’t stop. Rather, it turns into a thunderstorm, making the living room all the more cozier.

He wants nothing more than to stay, but it’s almost midnight. Markus looks out the window, strategizing how to brave the storm on his way home, when Simon, who had undoubtedly been dozing off just a minute ago, shifts in his seat.

“You’re not thinking of going out there, are you?” he asks, following his gaze.

His lack of response confirms Simon’s suspicions.

“Stay the night.”

And Markus recognizes the earnest, hopeful tone behind the words.

“What happened to not getting me sick?” he teases.

Simon rolls his eyes. “The couch is a pullout bed, and I’ll be in my room.”

But suddenly aware he’s infringing on Simon’s rest, because he _is_ sick after all, Markus shakes his head and starts to get up to clear the bowls and tidy the area. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not, I promise.” Simon takes his hand and brushes his thumb against his knuckles, gentle but firm, to reassure him. “I thought we were past that already.”

Markus tenses at that, bites his lip, debates if he should, but deep down he knows his mind is already made up. And after a lengthy fuss about and a change into some of Simon’s clothes, the couch is all set for him to sleep on. Except it’s missing a very vital component.

“This is more comfortable than your bed,” Markus comments. It’s a very feeble attempt to egg him on if he plays his cards right. But Simon has already caught on.

“Nothing you say will get me to join you.”

“This is more comfortable than my _own_ bed, honestly.”

He gives him an exasperated sigh. “I’m not going to get you sick. End of discussion.”

It was a good try, and in a show of defeat Markus chuckles at his stubbornness. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Giving him a final fond smile, Simon shuts the door behind him.

Once he’s gone, the living room loses some of its warmth. The clock ticks, rain continues to patter against the windows, and in combination it provides the ideal ambience to make Markus’ mind wander.

He wonders if Simon’s asleep yet, or lying awake the same as he is. Probably the former, he figures, since he can’t hear any sneezes. But the very thought of him in the other room, with just a door dividing the space between the two of them, is excruciating.

It’s pointless to think about, but trying to suppress a thought only makes him think about it more. He needs a distraction, until he’s somewhat tired at least (and no, the irony isn’t lost on him). Markus remembers his bag lying at the foot of the couch, his paperwork and laptop sitting inside unfinished and aching for his touch…

He shouldn’t.

But he should.

He’s been busy today and hasn’t filled his daily quota. So he ultimately sits up, deciding he can squeeze in a few hours of work before sleep. That is, if he didn’t always lose track of time while working.

It’s nearing 3 a.m. when the bedroom door quietly creaks open, making Markus look up from his work.

Simon shuffles out of his room looking more bedraggled than before. And he freezes in his tracks when he spots the illuminated glow of the laptop screen in the dark, and then makes direct eye contact with him.

“You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“So are you,” is all Markus can dumbly say. He can see Simon frown in the dark.

“I was getting water, not working on a report.”

Caught red-handed, Markus downright feels like a kid who’s been caught staying up by a parent, and braces himself for a well-deserved scolding or disappointed sigh.

But Simon lingers on the spot. It’s moments like these when he’s too reserved to say what’s on his mind, especially to Markus.

And Markus waits.

After what seemed like a full minute of an internal debate with himself, and to Markus’ surprise, Simon makes his way to the couch.

“Scoot.”

It’s a sign of defeat, if any, and Markus has to keep himself from grinning as Simon joins him under the covers. If only he knew it was this easy.

“Couldn’t keep away?” he asks. “Told you it was more comfortable than my bed.”

Simon senses his smug victory and mutters, “Hush. This is a work distraction.”

Yet, he lets him continue to work, as he drapes an arm around Markus’ waist and plants a light kiss on his shoulder. The sound of rain is replaced by slow breathing, and some of the warmth starts to crawl back (it’s the fever, he reminds himself), but all things considered and with him by his side, it’s perfect.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Markus murmurs to him, but Simon is already fast asleep against him. So he brushes a kiss to his forehead, just barely, careful not to wake him, and closes his laptop.

* * *

Markus gives himself three days before he can no longer ignore the symptoms that show up. Chloe all but forces him to take the next couple of days off, so he does, though not without protesting at first. And when he calls in sick to work, Simon shows up at his doorstep that very afternoon.

He’s out of breath like he’s run all the way from the office, thermostat in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Markus can only be surprised for a brief second because he half-expected these turn of events, and laughs.

“Turns out flu shots do nothing for a common cold,” he says in greeting.

“I feel terrible and I hate you,” Simon declares outright.

“It’s not as bad as it was for you,” he reassures him, still laughing. But it’s Simon’s turn to look unconvinced and worried.

When Markus lets him into his apartment, Simon gives him a squeeze to the arm, a kiss to the cheek, and presses the cup of coffee into his hands. “Just the way you like it.”

Markus swears he feels better already and wonders how he got so lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> me, 5am, on three shots of espresso mixed w red bull: do u think a depressed person could write THIS *goes into cardiac arrest* 
> 
> also dont be a markus!! please wear a mask and stay safe :(


End file.
